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As hard as it was for the members of the SPK to keep in the forefront of their minds, Near was still quite young. He hadn’t been L’s successor for a terribly long time.
If Gevanni’s timeline was correct, he’d taken on the Kira case as his first case immediately upon finding out about the original L’s death, at only 13 years old.
Of course, Wammy’s House was made to mold the extremely gifted kids who lived there into L’s successors, so nobody could say for certain how many graphic details of other cases the kids were exposed to. Near, at the very least, made a point to never speak of anything that took place during his time at the orphanage. Nothing personal, at least.
Whatever he’d seen, at this point, now just barely 18, Near had seen far more than his share.
The night a majority of the SPK members were murdered, Near was reminded of exactly how much.
Near was glad he had living accommodations arranged at HQ. He’d much rather take an elevator a few floors down than travel to a hotel with blood on his hands. Not just his hands, Near noted as he observed his reflection in the elevator’s mirrored wall. Splattered across his face, drying on his buttoned up shirt, matting his hair as well.
Blood was a lot less unsettling in images or on screens than it was when it dripped off your fingertips. Even more so when you could put a name and a face to the gore.
Ill Ratt. The agent had aimed the gun at Near at first. Whether this happened due to some kind of pre-death control the writer had over him or the chaos was taken as an opportune moment that ended in an abrupt change of heart was nothing better than a thought experiment. Ratt always harbored something of a grudge against him. Near realised he was glad they hadn’t been friends.
Speculating was pointless, Near decided as the elevator dinged and the doors opened to the vast hallway. Ill Ratt was dead, and that was that.
He had to get this blood off him.
Near didn’t think to be careful of spreading smudges of blood over the carpeted hallway floor by the soaked hems of his pants, nor did he bother rolling up his sleeves or wiping his hands before he turned the knob to his room. He figured the blood had dried enough by now. Even if it hadn’t, Near didn’t have it in him to care.
He paused before the bathroom mirror, taking in his appearance once more. He didn’t linger, opting to turn the shower knob and adjust the temperature to be as cold as possible. Near already disliked showers and he disliked the feeling of being suffocated by hot steam even more. He went through the motions, but his movements felt stiff and slow. Undress, step into the shower, wet his hair, shampoo, scrub…
Near stared at the mildly red tinted water swirl down the drain. He removed his hands from his hair. The foam looked pink. He rinsed his hands of the foam and returned them to his hair to get rid of the shampoo. The red tint in the water intensified and swirled down the drain. Near rinsed until the water ran clear and scrubbed at his hands and skin long after every bit of evidence had been washed away.
The shower knob still had blood smears on it from Near handling it.
Near turned off the shower.
He changed into a set of clothes identical to the ones that had just been ruined and stepped out of his room briefly.
The hallway was expansive, and for good reason — it had been meant to house 13 adults, after all. Director Mason had suggested it. It wasn’t hard to argue for the SPK members’ safety with Kira killing anyone who opposed him, so he’d easily secured funding for the two floors that the agents could reside in if they grew concerned about their safety or it came to a lockdown. The whole area resembled a hotel more than anything else. It certainly didn’t look like it laid in the middle of investigative headquarters, and certainly didn’t match the coldly lit monitor room just above.
Thoughts of the bloodsplatter entered his mind, even though he hadn’t been looking at the deaths directly. None but the last. Still, the bodies littering the floor painted a disturbing picture. Near shook the thought away. It didn’t matter, not in the long run. It was a tragedy for their families, and a strong blow to the departments Near borrowed them from. That and a substantial smudge on his reputation should the case not play out the way he envisioned it to. But he couldn’t get hung up on every death that happened around him. He’d never get anything done that way.
He returned to his room. No use in aimlessly standing around the hallway. He couldn’t say why he’d stepped out in the first place.
Near vaguely recalled the orders he’d given to the surviving team to give a brief report of the events to the president and then retire for the night. Meetings could be held in the morning when everybody had a clearer, fresher mind.
The surviving team.
Only Lidner, Gevanni and Rester had been left alive. If Near included himself, that made 4 remaining. His manpower had been cut by nearly three quarters. Not that it would be a huge hit to his investigative work. As rude as it sounded, his most important pieces to solving the puzzle remained, and he was quite certain he could fill in the rest himself.
Several hours passed with Near sitting on the ground, building a card house along the wall of his room. He’d heard Lidner turn in for the night about an hour ago, her heels clicked distinctly, even against the carpeted floor. Gevanni followed shortly after, his steps steady and confident. Near knew everybody’s footsteps by heart, a small trait he’d learned at Wammy’s House. It helped to know who was at the door before it opened, just in case it was one of the unkinder kids. Geniuses or not, kids would be cruel.
As the hours passed, Near couldn’t help but notice Commander Rester had yet to turn in. It wasn’t like him to just go home either, not without letting him know.
Near would have let any other member of the SPK stay up there and work as much as they wanted — Near couldn’t care less if he tried — but this was Rester.
Near considered him a close confidant, though his position was more reminiscent of a bodyguard. Despite this, he also became the one who made sure he ate and drank regularly, as well as held responsibility over keeping his toys safe. They’d known each other the longest, and Near had come to trust the man implicitly. As unempathetic as it may have been towards the other members, Near was glad that out of everyone murdered that day, Rester wasn’t one of them.
He briefly considered going up under false pretenses, started drafting a lie about some file that needed checking, but scrapped that plan when he heard the low vibrating footsteps against the carpet outside his door.
Rester was a well built man of around 193 cm and 40 years. His demeanor could only be described as calm and collected, any other nature only shining through when Near made a particularly questionable decision or when Near’s life was in danger.
And Near’s life had been, at least indirectly, endangered that day.
It was, of course, highly unlikely for Near to have died. During the investigation, he hadn’t shown his face to anybody but the SPK members and he had no photographs to his name — Wammy’s House prohibited them and destroyed any that may have been taken in their time before they came to the orphanage. That place was nothing if not thorough.
Even if they weren’t, Near always disliked having pictures taken. The rules of the Death Note simply didn’t allow for his death to be arranged, even if it was as a result of another person’s death.
Still, Rester, in true bodyguard fashion, seemed mildly unsettled by the whole ordeal, that much Near had been able to read from his face. Rester knocked and took a small step into his room.
“I’ll be heading to bed,” he informed him. “You should probably get some rest as well.”
“Thank you for letting me know,” Near replied.
This was the routine every night. Rester would come in, let him know he was turning in and advise Near to do the same. Near would acknowledge the former statement while ignoring the latter, Rester would leave, and Near would follow his advice a few minutes later.
This pattern repeated that night as it had so many nights before. Near stood and followed the well rehearsed schedule to the letter. He brushed his teeth with vigor and reluctantly ran a wide toothed comb through his hair. Not that he minded messing with his hair, but it was still slightly damp from the shower, and tangled easily when he slept. He did mind tangles.
Near crawled under the thick blanket and attempted to sleep.
He slept. Not well, but a little. He woke up a few hours later, laying on his side. He stretched and rubbed his eyes with the cuffs of his shirt covering his palms as he rolled onto his back. The ceiling didn’t look much different from the dreamless sleep he’d just gotten. Vaguely patterned, but clearly artificial. Near knew the details of the building inside and out, and he knew that beyond the cozy looking ceiling panels lay a thick layer of cold, hard concrete. He felt himself space out, but going back to sleep still felt impossible. He sat up and checked the alarm clock on the nightstand.
2:47 am
Near decided the few hours he’d gotten should suffice and forced himself out of bed, dragging the blanket with him. Body temperature naturally dropped during sleep, and since his had been interrupted, he felt uncomfortably cold. He draped the heavy blanket over his shoulders and let the rest drag across the ground as he quietly made his way back to the elevator. The uncomfortably loud ding cut through the silence of the hallway, and Near stepped inside, making sure the blanket followed suit before the doors closed. His eyes needed almost the entire ride to adjust to the harsh, sterile lighting that reflected off of every shiny surface the elevator had to offer, and the cool, blue light took the strain from his eyes when he arrived back in the monitor room.
Nobody had come to collect the bodies yet.
Somebody — Near could only guess who — had moved the corpses to a corner, laid them out with a little more dignity. A trail of blood led from where Ill Ratt had shot himself to where he laid now. It no longer looked fresh. The blood had dried by now, and the bright red oxidised to a dreary brown, which looked nearly black in the blue tint of the overhead light. The ruined monitors gave the only clue to its true color, the white light illuminating the small and large splatters strewn across the screens.
Near sat down in Rester’s chair after staring at the bodies for a moment. It occurred to him, he’d never actually been this close to a dead body before, let alone this many.
The closest he’d ever gotten to a corpse was back at Wammy’s House.
Quite the unfortunate incident. Near had only been at the orphanage for a few weeks, and that boy had been the first one he trusted, even slightly. Whether Near would admit it or not, he’d begun to let his guard down. He was safe, and Near felt safe around him, to the greatest extent he could back then.
There was splatter on the walls then.
There was splatter on the walls now, too.
But Ill Ratt had never been very nice to Near. Not that he cared much for the kindnesses of the agent, either, so Near had no reason to be bothered. Emotions complicated things, so he deemed it best to not grow too attached to too many people, especially not agents.
Near grabbed a Rubik’s cube from Rester’s desk and spun a little in the chair. Near had his own chair, but Rester’s chair was far larger and therefore more accommodating to the blanket. A little more than an hour passed, and the clock on the wall read 4:05 am.
Rester and Gevanni normally woke up around this time, so Near had a little less than another hour of alone time in the monitor room left before the commander and agent started their work days. Maybe even less, considering the net loss of the previous evening. The president would likely want to have several words with Near. Then there was the Japanese taskforce. A small piece of the day before returned to Near’s memory — the call he’d made to them. He never even said a word. He’d barely even thought about dialing the number. Most of his motions after the deaths seemed to have been performed on autopilot, Near realised. How strange.
He still had to explain the events to the taskforce as well.
The sun likely hadn’t even come up yet and Near already decided the day would be exhausting.
Near was exceptionally good at two things: Games and deduction. When those two particular skills combined during a case, his mind focused like nothing else.
If you can’t win the game, if you can’t solve the puzzle, you are just a loser.
He didn’t consider himself a loser. Not yet.
After all, he’d been left alive, and that was a win among the many losses.
The elevator’s ear piercing ding cut through the silence once more and Gevanni stepped out from the severely overlit cabin. Had the hour passed already?
“Oh, Near. Good morning. Didn’t expect you awake this early,” the agent commented, and Near just stared at him in response. Not that the agent expected a response to begin with. Near had a habit, especially in the earlier hours, to speak only when he had something urgent to say.
Near leaned his head against the headrest of the chair and let it loll to the side. It felt unusually cushioned thanks to the presence of the thick blanket wrapped around him. His eyelids felt heavy, but there was little point trying to sleep now. If Gevanni was up, that meant Rester would be up soon, too, and Lidner would follow. They were the part of his team that always got an early start. Maybe it would be interesting to see how they conducted their morning. Near would just stay still and quiet and watch.
Like clockwork, Rester arrived, sparing his senses by taking the far more reasonably lit and much quieter stairway.
“Morning, Gevanni,” Rester greeted his colleague, who waved his hand in response. It took a moment longer, once he started searching for his chair, for Rester to notice Near.
“Near… Good morning,” he greeted with a slightly puzzled expression. Near humored his greeting with a quiet hummed response. His unfocused eyes moved to actually look at the tall man. “You’re up quite early,” Rester continued tentatively. Another, more strained, hum in response. “Rough night?”
Near shook his head. “I slept fine,” he mumbled with his face squished against his pulled up knee — Rester usually was the one to evoke the first words out of Near in the mornings. Near made the most minuscule motion towards the corner with the bodies. “How much longer until they’re picked up?”
Gevanni and Rester exchanged a glance. “It hasn’t been arranged yet,” Gevanni answered, earning a dissatisfied grunt from Near.
“The president wanted to speak with you as soon as possible. Lidner arranged for it at 8:30,” Rester informed in an attempt to change the subject, and Near’s displeased grimace softened to a more sour scowl. Of course Lidner arranged it early. In the past, the woman had made it quite clear she was on nobody’s side — not Near’s, not Mello’s. So it only made sense she cared very little about Near’s preferences. Near held the agent in high regard. She was a capable, intelligent woman, efficient and to the point. In a way, he respected how little she considered his feelings when it came to timing and schedules. Near never planned around other people, either.
That didn’t stop him from being annoyed at the more unpleasant scheduling decisions she made.
“Gevanni,” Near began. Gevanni turned his head. “Please tell Lidner I’d like her to quit scheduling meetings with major world leaders first thing in the morning.”
Gevanni nodded. “I’ll make a note of it.”
The meeting with the president came and went. Near said very little, only what needed to be said. He took the outrage, he took the scrutiny, he formally apologised for the incident but made clear there was nothing he could have done to prevent it. What’s more, Near had already made sure the members of the SPK all signed waivers and their families would be monetarily compensated once the identities were confirmed, so he didn’t worry about lawsuits claiming negligence. Legally speaking, Near and the remaining members of the SPK were in the clear.
The day passed by quickly. Much to Near’s dismay, the bodies remained at HQ, though they were placed in bags and moved to lower floors with cooler temperatures until they could be picked up. Near watched the whole process from a distance. Ill Ratt's face, or what was left of it, haunted him most. The agent’s milky, unblinking eyes locked with Nears the same way they had just before he’d shot himself.
Near tilted his head.
The agent was lowered into the body bag.
The evening turned to night, and Near spent the time switching between Rester’s chair and the ground periodically and thinking out loud. Occasionally he sent Rester down to the living areas to grab a toy he’d left somewhere, only to discover the man had already thought of bringing it up to the monitor room. Eventually, time came for the agents to turn in for the night. While it usually rang true that evil doesn’t sleep, Kira wasn’t some vague, looming figure waiting for their guards to drop. Kira was still just a person. And people needed to sleep. With the time difference between America and Japan and the knowledge that Kira could control the time of death as well, it seemed almost idiotic to try and work against the clock. So when that clock struck 10 pm, Gevanni and Lidner left their work at a point they could easily return to and excused themselves for the night. Rester, however, continued on with his work and Near started laying the groundwork for another, smaller palace of dice.
An hour passed and Near ran out of dice. “Rester?”
“Hm.”
“I’m out of dice.”
“Do you need more?”
Near didn’t respond and stared at the unfinished structure. He tilted his head a little. “Why are you still up?” he said instead.
Rester turned his head to look at Near. His hair looked unkempt, his undereyes a little darker than usual. “Why are you?”
“Don’t do that.” Near frowned. “Answering a question with a question. I don’t like it when you do that.”
Rester considered the statement for a moment. “I’m still up because there’s still work to do. A lot of paperwork to file with nine deaths in the provision.”
Near hummed, a little more satisfied with the response. “Okay.”
“And why are you still up? You look tired,” Rester took his turn to ask the question.
Near didn’t respond and shut his eyes for a moment. He opened his eyes again. “I’m not tired.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Rester countered and was met with a mild glare. “Alright, alright,” he conceded and turned back to his computer monitor.
Silence reclaimed the space between them.
Near closed his eyes again. Not to sleep, but rather to rest his eyes. The monitor room was a nice change of pace to the other kinds of lighting HQ provided, but the dim blue light paired with the bright white monitors proved to be straining after a while. His head decided to torture him with a dull, throbbing ache, and Near wished for nothing more than a dark room and maybe a deck of cards to shuffle — the latter of which was promptly supplied.
The gentle downward pressure on Near’s palms caused him to open his eyes just a sliver. He discovered the standard 52-card deck he’d bought in Paris 3 years ago placed in his hands. Near had amassed a staggering amount of cards in his life, aided by his fascination with building large towers and structures from them. He never used that specific deck in any of his projects for fear of losing the cards in the sea of mixed decks. In fact, he could have sworn he’d left that specific deck in his coat pocket, he hadn’t touched it since he arrived at HQ.
And yet here it was.
Near moved his eyes from the deck over to Rester, who sat upright, unchanged in his chair. He noted, however, how the lining of his pants pocket stuck out a little in a way it hadn’t before. Like Rester had been carrying the deck with him in his pocket this whole time.
Near said nothing and slid the cards out of their case. They were in perfect order, he always sorted them before he put them back. Rester looked over as Near slowly began to shuffle the deck, watching the tension on his face dissolving ever so slightly.
“Near,” Rester tried once more.
Near said nothing, only shuffled the cards.
“You said you slept fine.”
Near hummed. “That is what I said, yes.”
“Yeah,” Rester nodded. “When you said that, were you referring to the quality or the quantity?”
Near halted his shuffling for a second before continuing. “Quality. I didn’t lie. I did sleep fine.”
“Right… Exactly how long did you sleep, though?”
Near’s hands halted again, for longer this time. His fingers tapped the cards. “About… 3 hours and 9 minutes.”
Rester nodded slightly. Near didn’t like to sleep unless all the members of the SPK had turned in as well. He thought it to be unprofessional. Rester didn’t know much about the time Near had spent at the orphanage or with Mello, but he could only guess somebody’s behavior or mindset had rubbed off on him. The whole workaholic attitude felt massively out of character for the radically rational approach Near had to everything else.
“Well,” Rester started and turned off his monitor. “I’ll be turning in now, too. I won’t be sharp tomorrow if I stay up too late.”
Near squinted at the statement, but said nothing at first. They both knew, at least to a degree, what Rester was doing. No point in pointing it out. “I suppose I should do the same,” he replied after a brief moment of consideration.
Rester nodded and made his way to the elevator, waiting for Near to join him before he called it up to their level. Near squinted and lowered his head, bothered as always by the unrelentingly brutal light from the cabin. Rester took a small step to the side in an attempt to shield him. Near reciprocated the gesture by taking a sidestep behind the tall man as well and stayed just slightly behind him as they both entered the cabin.
Rester’s presence in the elevator helped a little. Standing behind him with his head bowed kept the worst of the fluorescent lighting at bay, which made the few seconds they actually spent in the cabin pass much faster and far more pleasantly than it usually did.
The ding announced they’d arrived two floors down, and Rester stepped out. Near did the same.
“Do you want a different blanket? You’ve been dragging that one around all day, it’s probably not the cleanest,” Rester offered when they passed the small storage room. It contained everything 13 people may need to make their space pleasant. Blankets and pillows with their respective casings, fresh towels and toiletries, 0.5l bottles of water and a small pharmacy in the very back.
Near considered the offer, staring into the open room. With 13 people reduced to four, there was hardly any argument to be made about taking something somebody else might need. The items existed in excess now.
“Sure,” he answered finally, and Rester came around Near to lift the blanket from his shoulders. Near noticed the air got much colder in comparison, but couldn’t entirely tell if it was a welcome sensation or unpleasant change. Either way, a short wave of goosebumps rushed over the back of his neck. He watched Rester drop the old blanket in the hamper and grab a new one from the full stack of spares. He shook his head when Rester wordlessly offered a casing, and took the blanket as it was. He held it to his chest, not unfolding it just yet. “Thank you.”
Rester nodded and accompanied Near over to his room. “Do you need anything before I turn in?”
Near shook his head. “No, thank you. I’ll be alright.”
“Okay. Good night, Near.”
“Good night, Commander.”
Near watched Rester disappear behind the door opposite to his and entered his room only when he heard the door close with a definite click. He placed the blanket on the bed, still neatly folded. He despised any kind of blanket casings. The fabric always slid around or bunched up in ways that made his skin crawl, and he strongly disliked not being able to get a good grip of the blanket. Just the thought was enough to run a disgusted shiver down his spine, and he shook his head to rid himself of the thought.
Near knew he was particular, so he usually took care of his own bed, which meant Rester couldn’t know. Rester couldn’t know, but he should have picked up on it. The man was observant, he had to be in his line of work. Near breathed a short sigh and sat on the bed. He felt immediately heavier when his body hit the mattress. It wasn’t long before Near laid down properly and rolled onto his side, facing the folded blanket. His hand found the corners of it, and he absentmindedly, sluggishly played with the hemmed edges, running the tips of his fingers back and forth over the seams.
He thought back to the meeting with the president. He’d been asked who was responsible for the deaths of the nine SPK members, and Near had to admit he didn’t know. He could make educated guesses, but there really wasn’t any way of knowing.
It could have been Kira.
It could have been the mafia.
It could have been the Japanese task force.
After all, they were the first people Near called immediately following the incident. They were working together, sure, but Near openly suspected the second L to be Kira, going as far as accusing him outright. That could be enough to drive a wedge between them and lead to this. Murder for such a petty reason was more unlikely than the other possibilities, but graver crimes had been caused by less.
Near’s eyes fell shut, but the gears in his mind continued spinning.
Light Yagami, if he was Kira, could have easily taken out the SPK members. The information would have been available to him, even if slightly harder to access.
But Ill Ratt’s death felt somehow personal. Not because the man harbored some kind of resentment toward Near, but rather the manner of his death. Suicide by a self inflicted gun shot wound was far more brutal than the heart attacks.
If he wanted to go for something as graphic as possible, he could have had every one of them shoot themselves. Every member was armed. Or he could have had Ill Ratt shoot everybody and then himself. It fell within the rules of the notebook, and could even be chalked up to a mental break, allowing reasonable doubt to be cast over Kira and placing Near’s leadership in question.
But the man first aimed at Near, then at himself. Like an attempt at intimidation.
Whoever caused this wanted to send a message.
The mafia could have easily caused this as well. Who knew what information they had access to, especially with Mello at the head of it all. If Mello didn’t want to get his hands dirty with the Death Note, he could have easily had a lackey do it, somebody he didn’t respect. The mafia could have taken the action without Mello’s knowledge. But that was unlikely. Mello had a way of keeping people under him in line.
Of course, Mello could have been operating on his own. Taking the pen into his own hand. Sending a message of his own. He hated Near enough to do it. Mello knew what Near looked like, Mello knew him beyond his alias. Killing him would finally let him win against Near. Near had no doubts that given the opportunity, Mello wouldn’t hesitate.
Near gripped the edge of the blanket a little tighter and rolled onto his other side. The blanket unfolded itself in the motion and draped over his upper body. His brows had tensed and twisted into a focused grimace. He brought the seam up to his face and ignored how the blanket now covered part of his head as well.
The possibility of the Japanese task force being behind the murders was slim, but worth exploring. The more he thought about it, though, the more implausible it seemed. Why change the cause of death for only one agent? Why have the gun aimed at Near before he shot himself? None of it lined up neatly. And Gevanni confirmed their surprise seemed genuine when they were informed of the murders.
Near ran through all the possibilities and all the contradictions over and over until he finally drifted off to sleep.
Objectively, he knew it could only really have been the mafia or Kira. Briefly removing his objectivity in a tired thought experiment, Near thought about Mello and his involvement. For a moment, just before nodding off entirely, Near really hoped the murders weren’t Mello’s doing.
Near slept. It felt a bit more restful this time around, so he thought he’d also slept for longer, but a glance at the alarm clock revealed he’d woken up uncharacteristically early again. Near rolled onto his back. He noticed his bangs sticking to his forehead and his shirt clinging uncomfortably to his back, and sat up. His heart was racing, his breathing a little more shallow than usual. Near furrowed his brows in confusion. The sleep he had felt restful and deeper than the night before. He considered the possibility of a nightmare he simply couldn’t recall, but he’d never had that happen before. Nightmares were something he hadn’t had in the better part of a decade. He couldn’t make any sense of the physical stress response, and not knowing only made it feel worse.
Near pulled his crossed legs to his body. If he simply sat still, chances were the stress response would die down in time.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. Near managed to slow his breathing, but his heart stubbornly pounded in his chest. Enough to make him feel nauseous, but he knew it was thanks to the heightened levels of cortisol and adrenaline coursing through his veins. Now that he thought of it, Near couldn’t remember having eaten the day before. He remembered Rester offering, and he remembered declining every time, placating the man with assurances that he’d eat later. Following that train of thought, he also became quite sure he’d also passed on any beverages offered to him. With that realisation, 12 hours of thirst finally caught up to Near, and he ignored the pounding in his chest and stood up. Carefully at first, making sure he was steady on his feet before padding to the door and opening it.
He kept the hinges well greased to keep them from creaking. Not only did he hate the sound of a creaking door, but he couldn’t have 12 agents possibly wake each other up just by leaving their rooms. The carpet absorbed a majority of the sound Near’s footsteps created as he made his way to the storage room.
The small water bottles were kept well stocked in a minifridge all the way in the back, just beneath the little pharmacy on the wall. The fridge was mostly full. Sparkling, medium, still, flavored with a wide variety of fruits, all still had enough bottles to last a while. Gevanni had also suggested some kind of sport drink, something to balance out electrolytes, so the bottom shelf had been stocked with a wide variety of those as well. It seemed to have been a good idea, there were more of those missing than of the flavored waters.
Near crouched down in front of the open fridge and the cool air escaping from the inside felt freezing cold against his skin thanks to the thin film of sweat still keeping strands of hair stuck to his face. He didn’t mind the sensation and sat still like this for a minute or two, just allowing the cold to breeze over his skin until he felt shivers running down his spine. He finally opened his eyes again — he hadn’t even noticed they’d fallen shut — to properly scan the different bottles. He knew he should probably take something with electrolytes (or rather he knew that Rester would suggest something like that), given he hadn’t eaten, but he really couldn’t stand the artificial taste.
Near pursed his lips and, after some deliberation, reached for a bottle of still water. He grabbed it from the very back to ensure it was as cold as it could be. Bottle in hand, he closed the fridge and stood up. He left the storage room to discover Rester leaving his room. He didn’t say anything, but wordlessly watched Rester come through the doorway and carefully close the door without making it click. The man turned his head toward Near.
“You’re awake,” Rester said.
Near nodded.
“...on purpose?”
Near hesitated, then slowly shook his head and directed his gaze toward the ground.
Rester’s expression softened a little, not that Near could see it. “Come on,” he said simply and crossed the hall to Near’s room. He opened the door and waited for Near to step inside before he followed and shut the door with the same care he had his own.
Near sat on the bed, closer to the headboard this time and crossed his legs again. He placed the bottle of water in his lap and let it fall to one side. The cold of the bottle stung his skin beneath the fabric of his pants, but he didn’t really notice. If he did, he didn’t mind, either.
Rester sat near the foot of the bed and the soft mattress sunk considerably under his weight. He rested his elbows on his lap and turned his head to look at Near. Near kept his head a little lower, very intently studying the creases in the mattress sheet.
“Any idea what woke you up?” Rester asked. Near shook his head and considered his words carefully.
“I woke up under severe stress.”
“Nightmare?”
“None I can recall.”
Rester tilted his head a little. “Well, what was the stress?”
Near squinted as he thought back. “...I was sweating a lot. My pulse was quite high. I wasn’t breathing correctly. Then I…” Near paused, brought a hand to his hair and twisted a small strand behind his ear around his finger. “I sat up, I focused on breathing correctly. My heartbeat itself felt really…” He paused again in search of the right word and leaned his head against the hand in his hair. “Aggressive, and the pulse didn’t really change much.”
Rester considered his words and waited for Near to continue. When he didn’t: “Then?”
“Then I got up to get water.”
“That’s it?”
Near nodded. Rester hummed, and the two fell into another beat of silence.
Lulls in the conversation never felt off or uncomfortable to Near, just a period of time where neither one had anything to contribute to the conversation. With Rester, periods of silence played a part in the conversation just as much as their verbal discourse. It was only natural, out of all the agents and professionals Near worked with, the two had known each other longest by far.
“Why are you up?” Near asked and glanced at the alarm clock.
2:17 am
“Because you are.” Near finally looked at Rester, surprised by the answer. Rester shrugged.
“I’m a light sleeper. I can thank my training for that, I suppose. The army requires you to fall asleep fast and be up even faster.”
Near’s eyes stayed on Rester in an intense, nearly unreadable stare. “I woke you?”
“You could put it like that. But I also know you’re not sleeping well, so I guess I expected for you to be up.”
Near’s eyes narrowed and a familiar tension returned on his face. “I woke you,” he repeated, a little more firm this time.
Rester’s brows furrowed. “Yes. It’s not a problem, though. Really.”
Near hummed, his expression still suggested dissatisfaction at the knowledge.
Rester decided to change the subject.
“You don’t know what woke you up. Do you have any idea what could be keeping you from sleeping in the first place?”
“I already said-” Near began and stopped when Rester shook his head.
“You don’t wake up in the middle of the night if there’s nothing keeping you from sleeping. That's not in the norm for you,” Rester explained. “You barely spoke today,” he continued and Near frowned. “That’s fine, I know you don’t always feel like speaking, but in combination with the interrupted sleep it does point to something wrong. Of course, correct me if I’m wrong.”
Near let Rester’s words sink in and process for a moment. He was right, this was out of the norm. The man really was very observant.
“I suppose,” Near started, slowly, still staring holes into the mattress in front of him. “I’m not… entirely pleased with the current state of the SPK.”
Rester stayed silent, allowing Near to continue if he needed to. He did.
“It doesn’t make any sense to me. Why kill eight people with heart attacks and have the ninth shoot himself?” Near’s expression grew more agitated. “Why aim a gun at me and not shoot? Whoever did this wanted to send some message, I’m sure of it. But I need to know who it was. It could have been Kira. It could have been the mafia. I’ve already ruled it out, but it could even have been the Japanese task force if they’re stupid and petty enough. It could have been-” The words left Near’s mouth like venom, and he stopped himself before actually saying the last possibility out loud.
The unspoken name hung in the air like a knife threatening to cut the tension.
Near’s lips formed a thin line across his face. His entire body had visibly tensed up, his eyes stared so intensely into the bed they might have actually bored through it.
“You’re worried-”
“Yes,” Near cut Rester off with the curt reply. He let out a slight huff and hoped his body would listen to him and relax his muscles. It didn’t. “I know he’s capable of it. It’s always been personal with him. Everything he does acts as a statement.” Near noted how his speech got less objective by the minute. “If everybody I’ve taken responsibility for dies, my — L’s — reputation gets tarnished. He hates that L never chose between us, it’s feasible that he would want the whole name and position to be abolished. But I don’t know who he hates more, Near or L.” Near’s eyes darted over at Rester, just a quick glance to gauge his reaction.
Rester’s features had softened. Unusually so. It was actually a little unsettling.
“What is that?” Near’s voice returned to its curt, defensive tone.
“What?”
“Your face. Why are you doing that?” Near looked at Rester again with narrowed eyes and gestured vaguely in his direction. The question was blunt, almost rude, but Rester knew Near better than to react thoughtlessly. His confusion was genuine, this kind of conversation was entirely uncharted territory for him.
“I’m listening.” Rester explained. “Excuse my assumption, but I doubt this is easy for you. So I’m listening.”
“Okay…” Near’s tone remained apprehensive. “I’ve never seen your face do that.”
“We’ve never had this kind of conversation before.”
Near blinked, the simple statement apparently letting something click. “Huh.”
Rester allowed Near a moment to process the apparently startling information. “So…” He started after a sufficient amount of time had passed. “You don’t want Mello to have done this.”
“No. And it’s completely irrational to hope that, no amount of hoping changes the outcome. It’s not objective, it’s not rational.” Near’s expression soured with frustration.
Rester leaned forward a bit. “Especially when you know he’s capable of it.”
“Yeah…” Near’s shoulders finally slumped. “It doesn’t make sense. And if you can’t win the game, if you can’t solve the puzzle…”
“I know.” Rester hummed and let his eyes wander away from Near for a moment to consider his reply. Though maybe he didn’t even have to reply — Near frequently talked things through with him around, despite requiring very little input. Like he just needed somebody to listen.
“I miss Mello.”
The statement almost got lost in the quiet mumble Near had spoken it in. Rester’s head snapped back to look at Near. Not the best way to react, but nothing could have prepared the man for that level of vulnerability from the white haired boy sitting in front of him.
Even though Rester knew better, that was the thought that entered his mind: Near looked like a boy at that moment. Not a man.
“What?” Rester finally asked, afraid he’d misheard or mistaken a hum for something it wasn’t. Near didn’t respond, and Rester began to wonder if he had actually just imagined it.
“I don’t think you know this,” Near finally continued, speaking much quieter than previously. His head hung lower than before, Rester could barely make out his eyes behind the thick curtain of hair. “But I’m to blame for Mello being the way he is.”
Rester didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t agree, he didn’t know much about Near and Mello’s relationship, certainly not enough to make that kind of judgement. He couldn’t dispute it for that same reason.
Near didn’t take note of Rester’s stunned silence. “I came to Wammy’s House when I was 6, I think. Before I got there, Mello already was one of the runner ups to be L’s successor. He’d been climbing the ranks for years. That’s why he’s so angry, I took that from him.” Near shrugged. “I didn’t mean to. I don’t feel bad about it, either, but he didn’t take it well.”
Rester cleared his throat before speaking. “You don’t feel bad about it?”
“Should I?” Near looked up and met Rester’s eyes. “It’s a variable outside of my control.” His incessant twirling of the hairstrand stopped, and he held the lock tightly around his finger. “He was cordial with me for the first few days. I arrived just as the exam phase began, and of course I had to take the exams despite the fact I hadn’t attended enough classes to have covered any of the material.”
“I assume you matched his scores. Since you both became L’s successors,” Rester surmised.
Near let go of the strand and directed his gaze at the artificial ceiling. “At first. Given time, I surpassed the scores he’d achieved when he was in my age class. I didn’t even notice at first, they were two year old grades of a kid I didn’t know much about. It only really took a few weeks for me to be moved into his age class prematurely. He hated that. He hated Roger for letting it happen and he hated me for being on par with him. I think…” Near paused and really thought about his next words. “I think he hated himself for not being advanced or at the top of his age bracket. But I really looked up to Mello for a while. He worked hard for his scores, the only thing he ever wanted was to be in L’s position. I respect that.”
Rester nodded. Near never spoke about Mello or the orphanage, let alone this much, so he just let him go on.
Near looked down at his hands in frustration with himself. His fingers had started to run along the seams of his shirt. “I exacerbated the blatant inferiority complex he had. I didn’t respond the way he wanted me to when he treated me awfully. I still…” Near explained. “I still like him. I still respect him. Even after everything, and it drives him crazy.”
Rester hummed and his eyes crinkled as he considered the new information Near provided.
“I don’t think Mello realizes his actions are contradictory. He wants to prove so desperately that he’s better than me, I’m afraid he’ll kill himself doing it. I know it’s irrational, and I know Wammy’s House does this for good reason — it’s the best way for them to pick out the next L.” Near grimaced. His face looked a bit like he was going to be sick.
“But,” Something in Near’s voice softened, and he said the next words with careful consideration and intonation. “I don’t want another friend to kill himself over the ranking system Wammy’s House implemented.”
Rester raised a curious eyebrow. Another friend.
Near finally took the bottle from his leg and opened it, the cracking of the plastic cap cutting through the heavy silence. The condensation left a damp print on his pants, that same spot had gone numb a while ago. The water went down easily, the cool liquid immediately rushing to his head, providing relief Near didn’t know he needed.
Rester got up and unfolded the blanket properly.
“What are you doing?” Near eyed the man warily. Not that he didn’t trust him, but rather that messing with his blanket is the last thing Near expected in that moment.
“You look cold.” Rester spread the blanket out and let it fall just slightly over Near’s legs. Near looked from the blanket to Rester and balled a free hand into a fist to see if he was actually cold. His palm was met with surprisingly frigid fingers.
Rester returned to his spot on the bed. “You had another friend? And he…?”
Near’s shoulders tensed again and a hand found the blanket’s edge, pulling it towards himself. “Yeah… I don’t really want to talk about it. Just… all the blood up there. And the bodies…”
Ah. Now his reaction to the bodies still being there that morning made more sense.
“Brought up unpleasant memories,” Rester finished the sentence, and Near nodded. “I get it. You’re not usually in the field. Having people more or less drop dead in front of you can rattle even the most hardened men.”
“Please don’t try to comfort me,” Near said before Rester could say any more.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured quickly. “I’m just telling you I understand how that can be distressing. I didn’t sleep for a week after witnessing my first death. Two weeks of interrupted sleep when it happened again.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m not saying anything. Just that it’s normal to experience symptoms of stress when you’re worried or stressful things happen around you. Hell, it’s pretty much to be expected.”
Near watched Rester’s expression carefully and said nothing. Rester didn’t push for a reply, either. Near stared at the wall across from the bed with tired eyes and long, sluggish blinks. His body didn’t relax as much as it just gradually slumped against the pillow and the headboard. He stayed that way for a long time, and Rester stayed in his spot as well, silent but present.
“Rester?”
“Hm.”
“I’m going to need you to keep tonight between us,” Near’s voice left his lips through a lazy mumble, but his statement arrived clearly.
“Of course. Nothing leaves this room.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
This last brief exchange of words put Near’s mind at ease enough for his eyes to stay closed for longer intervals when he blinked, until his eyes shut one last time and his head drifted slightly to the side not long after. Rester removed the water bottle from the bed and adjusted the blanket when he was sure it was safe to do so without waking him up again.
The following morning, Near arrived up in the monitor room at 9 am. His undereyes didn’t appear quite as dark.
Of course, Near’s sleeping problems didn’t end after just that one night. His sleep was continually interrupted, either by nightmares or unexplained waking. Some nights he didn’t, or rather couldn’t sleep at all. Near guessed his sleep wouldn’t get much better until he caught Kira.
Now, however, Near had a routine. If he had trouble sleeping, which was most nights, Near spent the time around Rester — whose room it was made no difference. In Near’s room, Rester would sit by the foot of the bed. Sometimes the two talked, mostly the two spent the time in peace and quiet until Near drifted off. In Rester’s room, Near would lay on the floor or the other side of Rester’s bed. Rester always woke up briefly when he came in and he always scooted over just a touch to accommodate Near and closed his eyes again. Near talked less in Rester’s room than he did in his own room, and when he did, he mostly mumbled to himself. Rester didn’t mind.
Near resealed the tight, heavy lid he kept on any tales of Wammy’s House and his time growing up there. Sometimes he spoke about Mello, he talked about his other friend from the orphanage on even rarer occasions, and only ever to Rester. His voice and mannerisms stayed as even keeled and unbothered as ever, like he’d never derailed his train of objective thought. Like he’d never allowed himself to be bothered by human details.
There were mornings Rester found Near already up in the monitor room amid a collection of toys, but there were also mornings Rester woke up with Near sleeping soundly on top of his covers or curled up on the ground. On occasion he’d have made himself comfortable in the recliner in the corner of the room. When he saw him sleeping like that, it occurred to him.
Right.
Adult.
Near was an adult.